


What's The Hatter With Me?

by The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2413160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat/pseuds/The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the simple life of being a son of a woodsman and a seamstress, Jefferson couldn't even dream of the life awaiting him. - Slow building to eventual Madhook</p><p>Rating of fic to change as story progresses</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's The Hatter With Me?

_**** _

_**\-- Why sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast --** _

> [Evil Queen: I have a job for you.
> 
> The Mad Hatter: I don't do that any more.
> 
> Evil Queen: Yes, I heard you hung up your hat. Why? Is it because of your sweet daughter Grace?
> 
> The Mad Hatter: Because of my work, she lost her mother. I don't want her to lose her father, too.
> 
> Evil Queen: So now you're foraging for fungus. What kind of future does your daughter have here with you? Do this one last favour for me, and you can give her the life she deserves.
> 
> The Mad Hatter: That's why I'm staying. You don't abandon family, /that’s/... what she deserves.]

**/Wonderland/** \-- A place and a world like no other, lying within are four very different lands, each one as magical and wonderful as the one resting beside it. Read within a commentary tone...

 ** _Underland: -_** Home of the ‘Narcoleptic’ Door Mouse, the mischievous Cheshire Cat and how could one forget the givens of the singing flowers, prudish and rude as they may appear they are simply rooted if complemented on such varying talents. Just ‘don’t’ tell Alice.

 ** _The Looking Glass: -_** Home of the infamous [and star of the story] Jefferson Hayter aka The Mad Hatter, the madness continuing with the March Hare, a sucker for decent sugar, within each unstirred cup of tea. The Tweedles, Dumb and Dee, though the challenge is up to you on telling the two apart. And how could we fail to mention the devious but not at all murderous ‘Red Queen’ closely accompanied by the Naive of Hearts, the likes of which was quickly pardoned from stealing the legendary tarts.

 ** _Tulgey Wood: -_ ** Home of some of the deadliest though in a strange and twisted fashion best in show of appearance the ‘Jabberwocky’ and the ‘Bandersnatch’ we’d mention the ‘Jubjub’ bird though last we’d heard he’d taken to shying away thought the legend of his name still remains popular with the locals.

 ** _Outlands: -_** What to say and what to add? The unknown within the desert land is best left at that. The most fearsome creatures defying you greatest imagination lurk within the sand storms dwelling within their own utter bitterness. Those, as stories are usually told, who seek heroism are never seen again while a pure of heart, may cross, without detection.

_**~ Facing all measures of danger, exploring whole new worlds; ~** _

The son of a seamstress, protégé of a woodsman, Jefferson Rowe, as he was named back then, wanted more than the simple life he was living, to be given the opportunity to see the world as it was truly meant to be seen. Growing up he’d lived between lands, the infamous ‘Looking Glass’ and ‘Underland’. Never seeing much of either, but what crawled over the boundary lines. Each new sighting sparked his curiosity, turning the newly formed cogs, creating an incomprehensible imagination. Within that world, magic had to be seen before it could be believed. Much of the family life revolved around his father and his well earned, well spoken reputation, he was a proud man, carrying the family name with honour.

Jefferson’s mother Katharine worked hard as a seamstress, selling her wears down at the market within the later days of the week. As the days past people seemed to be more generous and giving recognising a true talent. Jefferson idolized his mother, proud that she was making a name for herself and that strangers had begun paying visits to have some clothing repaired or even designed from scratch. Though as her success grew, the family was beginning to feel a change within the air. His father was spending more and more time away from the family and as the young Jefferson reached his teenage years he had taken on the unofficial title of ‘man of the house’. He ran small errands for the local blacksmith, while catching snippets of stories regarding his father, becoming long used to the quietened voices and the purposeful gesture of having a back turned upon him.

The times he did return the money simply didn’t add up. Entering the house he reeked of alcohol and cheap perfume, his mother never uttering a word, ‘keeping the peace’ as she often stated. She still loved him, though as a young man watching from what appeared to be the outside looking in -- it hurt. Reaching an age of young adulthood Jefferson took on a stronger role of watching other his mother as his father ‘worked’ away, the two developed a strong bond bounded by trust and respect. She taught him everything she knew as attendance within a school, cost more than they could spare. Her best was considered enough, as he carried a personality that shone, lighting such dismal place, the perfect gentleman as commented by the locals within the village. Jefferson expressed a genuine interest in words that were spoken towards him and a showing of manners that complemented his already well established charm.

One particularly dark evening, with the cold wind howling outside the doors, rattling at the shutters and sending a chill thought the smallest of cracks, the fire burning low a darkened shadow forced itself thought the doors, stumbling to the side to avoid imagined and unattainable objects only to land himself in the nearest seat legs spread and parted before him. It had only taken moments before he had begun barking out orders, struggling only with voicing the correct names. The matter of a confrontation was far beyond due, ‘when’ and ‘what’ words should arise from the young man’s mouth were subject to the venom within his tone, each syllable, filled thickly with the hurt and anger the family had been carrying upon their shoulders.

“Do you even know who /we/ are to you? – That’s my /mother/ you’re running your mouth at, not some – some cheap floozy whom you paid for to attend your needs and pay you with complements just as you paid them...”

The anguish built up with each passing truth creating a thick and almost suffocating atmosphere, Jefferson hardly had the time to finish his overly rehearsed passage when his father, within his blurry eyes and intoxicated state struck him clumsily across the jaw his hand partially resembling a closed fist as his fingers started to unfold. His mothers’ hands cupped his cheeks nursing him through the shock, tears splattered and streamed down her cheeks, repeatedly hearing her uttering for him to ‘be a good boy’. As he was ushered from the house, resorting to sleeping within the care of a neighbour it was needless to say his father returned to ‘work’ the following morrow and simply disappeared into the shadows.


End file.
